But these visions passed away almost as quickly as they appeared, so we left the dark and dreary mansion whose glory had departed, and marched on our way, expecting to find at Langholm that which we so badly needed—­food and rest.

The old inn at Mosspaul, where the stage-coaches stopped to change horses, was built at the junction of the counties of Dumfries and Roxburgh, and was very extensive with accommodation for many horses, but fell to ruin after the stage-coaches ceased running.  Many notable visitors had patronised it, among others Dorothy Wordsworth, who visited it with her brother the poet in September 1803, and described it in the following graphic terms: 

The scene, with this single dwelling, was melancholy and wild, but not dreary, though there was no tree nor shrub:  the small streamlet glittered, the hills were populous with sheep, but the gentle bending of the valley, and the correspondent softness in the forms of the hills were of themselves enough to delight the eye.

A good story is told of one of the Armstrongs and the inn: 

Once when Lord Kames went for the first time on the Circuit as Advocate-depute, Armstrong of Sorbie inquired of Lord Minto in a whisper “What long black, dour-looking Chiel” that was that they had broc’ht with them?

“That,” said his lordship, “is a man come to hang a’ the Armstrongs.”

“Then,” was the dry retort, “it’s time the Elliots were ridin’."[Footnote:  Elliot was the family name of Lord Minto.]

The effusions of one of the local poets whose district we had passed through had raised our expectations in the following lines: 

  There’s a wee toon on the Borders
    That my heart sair langs to see,
  Where in youthful days I wander’d,
    Knowing every bank and brae;
  O’er the hills and through the valleys,
    Thro’ the woodlands wild and free,
  Thro’ the narrow straits and loanings,
    There my heart sair langs to be.

[Illustration:  THE COMMON RIDING, LANGHOLM.]

There was also an old saying, “Out of the world and into Langholm,” which seemed very applicable to ourselves, for after a walk of thirty-two and a half miles through a lonely and hilly country, without a solitary house of call for twenty-three, our hungry and weary condition may be imagined when we entered Langholm just on the stroke of eleven o’clock at night.

We went to the Temperance Hotel, but were informed they were full.  We called at the other four inns with the same result.  Next we appealed to the solitary police officer, who told us curtly that the inns closed at eleven and the lodgings at ten, and marched away without another word.  The disappointment and feeling of agony at having to walk farther cannot be described, but there was no help for it, so we shook the dust, or mud, off our feet and turned dejectedly along the Carlisle road.